Kiss of Death
by Freyja529
Summary: When several men in their midtwenties die mysteriously, Dean and Sam work to determine the cause... but will Dean's need to feel human again cause him to fall victim to the same evil? Note:Contains some scenes that may not be suitable for younger readers
1. Chapter 1

_**Kiss of Death **_

_**Chapter One**_

**_Disclaimers: I do not own the boys, I only borrow them occasionally for my own nefarious purposes…_**

_**Set in Season One sometime after Faith so minor spoilage up to that point.**_

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Dean paced the floor of the motel room, his hand reaching up occasionally to ruffle the back of his dirty blonde hair. A thin shaft of sunlight wedged its way between the curtains and glanced off the silver ring on his hand. Something about the image made Sam think of a caged lion. "Dude, you're wearing a path in the carpet."

Dean glanced over his shoulder, a look of annoyance crossing his face. He walked to the window and pulled back the curtain. Sunlight flooded the dimly lit room and Sam squinted and ducked his head under the covers.

Dean turned and gave a frustrated grunt. "Sammy, I can't do this. It's been over a week, man, my huntin' muscles are atrophying."

Sam peeked over the top of the comforter. "Uh-oh. He's using the big words… it has been too long."

"Very funny. So what do you think, Francis? You all better yet? Or do you still have the sniffles?"

Sam grinned in spite of himself, recalling Dean's ministrations over the past week. He'd seen the worry creasing his big brother's face as he fed Sam chicken broth and aspirin. He'd seen the look of concern in Dean's eyes when his fever spiked. But he could play along if that's what Dean needed. "Yeah, I was just fakin' it to get a little R & R."

"Bitch." Dean glared at Sam but relief reflected in his eyes. "Seriously, dude, you up to movin' on?"

Sam kicked off the covers and stretched, his shaggy hair mussed from sleep. "I gotta' admit, I'm not a hundred percent, but if we stay here another day I'm afraid you'll spontaneously combust or something."

Dean gave an exaggerated nod and rubbed his hands together. "I think I found something. On that thing," he added, nodding sideways at Sam's laptop.

Sam looked skeptical. "You surfed the net?"

Dean raised his eyebrows and gave a lecherous grin. "Heh. Check out your favorites, dude."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Nice. Seriously, what'd you find?"

"Benton, Oregon… They've had two unexplained deaths and one dude in a coma in the past few months. All males in their mid-twenties, all wasted away, like they'd aged in overdrive or something. Think it's our kind of weird?"

"Worth checking out, I guess. Lemme grab a shower and then we can head out." Sam swung his long legs over the side of bed and rested a moment before rising.

"You sure you're up to it?" Dean asked, all traces of sarcasm gone from his voice replaced with an edge of brotherly concern. He would never let on to Sam, but he'd been worried these past few days. It had been years since he'd seen Sam so sick, and the helpless feeling it triggered in him had made him feel about ten years old.

Sam took a wobbly step and looked back at Dean over his shoulder. "Nothin' a little breakfast won't cure." He forced a smile onto his lips. "Seriously, I'm good."

Dean tilted his chin up in response and Sam turned back around and proceeded on to the bathroom under his brother's watchful eye.

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Dean rolled the Impala into Benton in second gear, eyes shifting to take in their surroundings. Their first stop was the hospital where the coma victim, one Randall Cohn, lay wasting away. Dean wheeled into a parking space and adjusted his tie, then reached into the center console to rifle through a mess of ID cards. He grabbed one, squinted at it and threw it back, then grabbed another and stuck it in his jacket pocket. Sam did the same and they opened the car doors and regarded each other over the top of the vehicle.

"Doctor," Sam said, nodding at Dean.

"Doctor," Dean replied, a grin playing at the side of his mouth.

The two straightened and walked into the hospital as if they had every right to be there. Dean strode up to a young blonde nurse sitting behind the counter and cleared his throat. She glanced up from her clipboard, a smile flitting across her face. "Can I help you?"

Dean's gaze met hers. "I'm sure you can…" A grin twitched on his lips. "I'm Doctor Osborne, this is my colleague, Doctor Iommi. We're here to consult on the Cohn case."

The nurse's expression turned grave. "Of course, Doctors. Right this way," she said, standing and leading them towards a bank of elevators. She pressed the "up" button and glanced over her shoulder at Dean, a ghost of a smile gracing her lips. The elevator doors opened and as she stepped on Dean shot a lewd smirk in Sam's direction. Sam shook his head and followed her onto the elevator. As the doors closed, Dean hummed the tune to "Love in an Elevator", pouting his lips innocently when Sam elbowed him.

"Here we are, gentlemen," the nurse said. "ICU." She pointed to her right. "Mr. Cohn is in room 432. Doctor Shepard should be making rounds right about now so you can touch base with him. Anything else I can do for you?" she asked, focusing her blue eyed gaze on Dean, who opened his mouth to speak.

Sam interrupted, stepping in front of his brother to hit the "down" button. "We've got it from here. Thank you for your help, Miss…" His eyes traveled down to her name tag. "Miss Donovan."

Looking slightly taken aback, Nurse Donovan nodded as the elevator doors closed between her and the _doctors_. Sam shot Dean a look. "Time and a place, dude, time and a place."

Dean shrugged good-naturedly and set off down the narrow corridor before them.

They passed several rooms before they reached their destination. Dean glanced surreptitiously from side to side before motioning for Sam to follow him into the room with a tilt of his head.

Sam closed the door behind them and pulled out a digital camera. A curtain blocked their view of the patient and Dean reached up a hand to pull it sideways along a set of tracks in the ceiling. He nearly jumped backwards when the object of their attention was revealed.

"Dude," Dean whispered under his breath like a curse.

Sam stopped short directly behind Dean. "What the hell?"

Randall Cohn was an empty husk. If not for the steady beep of the heart monitor the brothers would have been hard pressed to say he was actually alive. His skin was chalk-white and pulled taut across his bones. Dark smudges pooled under his eyes.

Dean let out a breath and scratched the back of his head. "Looks like our boy's been sucked dry. What the hell does this?"

The camera beeped once and a flash lit the darkened room. Sam lowered it, his eyes glued to Randall's emaciated frame. "No idea, man, but whatever it was, it was thirsty."

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"Whatd'ya think? That dude looked wasted, man," Dean mumbled as he shoved a French fry into his mouth.

Sam sat across from him in the diner booth, burger in one hand, the other working the laptop. "Yeah. Did he look twenty-six to you?"

"More like eighty-six," Dean replied, shaking his head as if to ward off the image.

"Aging spirit, maybe? Some kind of demon that feeds on peoples' life force, like a psychic vampire or a shtriga or something?" Sam asked rhetorically, his index finger scrolling through the information in front of him.

"Dunno. Let's check out the two deaths, see what the common denominator is."

Sam leaned in towards the computer screen. "Says here Ron Carlton, aged twenty-five, died of natural causes in his home. His roommate, Chris Norton, was the one who found him."

"So we pay this Chris dude a visit," Dean said, glancing up at his brother. He frowned and narrowed his eyes. "Dude, you look like hell. You alright?"

Sam nodded, but the pallor of his skin suggested otherwise. "I just can't seem to shake this crap. To tell you the truth, I'm kinda wiped."

Dean motioned to their waitress and pushed his plate forward. "Let's go get checked in. We'll talk to the roommate in the morning."

Sam breathed a sigh of relief. "Yeah, sounds good."

"Wouldn't want to keep you out past your bedtime, Samantha," Dean added with a smirk.

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Dean reached over to turn off the bedside lamp. He took one last look at his brother sleeping peacefully in the adjacent bed and gave a silent prayer of thanks to a God he no longer knew if he believed in that Sam was on the mend. It had been one hell of a week, but Sam seemed to be out of the woods now.

Dean flicked off the light and allowed his eyes to adjust to the darkness. Breathing deeply, he realized how tired he was and closed his eyes, allowing sleep to overtake him.

_Dean felt her before he saw her. He laid face down, one hand under his pillow, sprawled on top of the motel comforter. Warm breath tickled the back of his neck triggering an eruption of gooseflesh down his arm. Silken hair brushed against his bare shoulder and he shifted onto his side and craned his neck backwards. _

_His hazel eyes, hooded with sleep, peered at the face beside him. The edges of his vision seemed blurred, fuzzy and he swiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. Blinking slowly Dean took in the vision before him. Wide green eyes rimmed in impossibly thick black lashes, full lips the color of sunset, long dark hair that appeared almost liquid as the figure in front of him tossed her head. _

_She lowered her gaze and then looked up at him through her lashes, biting her lower lip seductively. Dean saw his hand reach up almost of its own accord to touch her cheek and brush back a stray lock of ebony hair. She smiled at this and darted a tiny pink tongue over her lips, then leaned down over him. She swirled her hair across his muscular chest and dipped her head to place a trail of kisses from his collarbone to his flat stomach. Dean's breath caught as she paused to look up at him, desire flashing in her eyes. He tilted his head back and closed his eyes, succumbing to sensation that blocked out everything else. _

_Suddenly she was above him again, her movements almost feline in their grace. Her small, soft hands found his large, calloused ones and with a strength belied by her petite physique she raised his arms above his head and pinned his hands to the pillow. In the same move she gracefully straddled his hips and lowered her body onto his, pressing her weight onto the smooth, hard planes of his chest and abdomen. Dean's eyes widened and flashed, his full mouth opened slightly as if to speak and was instantly covered with hers. He felt as if he were melting into her, lines blurred and he couldn't tell where he ended and she began. He devoured her mouth with his own, the taste of her like honey on his tongue._

_They were moving together now, sheets tangling, bodies entwining. God, she felt so good. He felt ravenous, hungry for everything she had to share. He couldn't seem to touch enough, kiss enough, feel enough. His skin felt feverish, his lips were bruised, he could feel himself unraveling. He tightened his fists around her long hair as he cried out and thought to himself, I'm going to break apart. _

And then suddenly he was alone, confused, blinking in the moonlight. His breath came in short bursts; his heart pounded, sweat glistening on his bare chest. He glanced around the room and saw Sam sleeping soundly in the adjacent bed.

He let his breath out in a shaky rush of air and reached a hand up to rub his furrowed brow. _Wow_, he thought. _That was one hell of a dream._

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Dean woke to the sound of coughing. His eyes felt like someone had placed weights on them during the night but he managed to open them enough to take in the hunched figure of his brother sitting on other bed.

"Sammy?" The two syllables were laced with meaning. One simple word conveyed so much… _You alright? I'm worried. What needs fixing? I'm your big brother, that's my job._

Sam glanced in Dean's direction. "I'm fine," he said, his voice hoarse. "Seriously," he added as he regarded the concern creasing Dean's brow. "I feel a lot better; I just have this damn cough when the Nyquil wears off."

Early morning sun slanted through the window and Sam narrowed his eyes at Dean as he noted his haggard appearance. "_You_ alright, man? No offense, but you kinda look like crap."

"Wha'? I'm fine," Dean said, ignoring the exhaustion that seemed to permeate his bones. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands and stretched his back. "Let's go talk to this Chris dude, see what we can find out."

Sam pursed his lips and gave his head a small shake. "You're changing the subject, Dean, but alright. You can even have the first shower."

"Thanks, man." Dean raised himself onto his forearms and rolled his neck from side to side. There was an ache deep in his spine that felt like the beginnings of the flu but he shook it off and swung a leg over the side of the bed. He stood and shuffled towards the bathroom, trying to overcome the heaviness that weighted his limbs.

He kicked the bathroom door closed behind him and stripped off his boxers. He reached a hand in to turn on the shower and held it there until the water ran warm across his palm. Stepping into the stream he closed his eyes and ran his hands back through his hair. The water soothed his aching muscles and he found his mind returning to the dream he'd had the night before. _Damn, that felt real. _

_Felt real…felt damn good… _It had been so long since Dean had felt anything but the all too familiar emotions of worry, pain, anger… How long since anything had broken through that hardened shell and actually touched something inside? Everything he did was a means to an end; work this angle on a credit card scam, flash this fake badge to gain entry to a crime scene, say some pretty words to the girl at the bar to get laid, salt and burn this spirit's bones to keep it from hurting anyone else. But this…even if it was only a dream, at least it made him _feel._

Dean tried to remember the last time he'd allowed himself to truly let go with a woman. Usually he was in control, giving just enough to make his partner lose herself but holding back anything that might actually leave him vulnerable. Last night had been different. He was sure there was some psycho-babble bullshit Sam would come up with to explain why he could only completely relinquish control when he was asleep. Whatever the reason, he couldn't seem to stop thinking about the woman in his dream.

Before he knew it the water had cooled and Sam was pounding on the door. "Dean! What the hell, dude? A twenty minute shower? Save some hot water for me, man."

Dean shook his head, raining water droplets onto the shower curtain. He stepped out onto the tiny motel bath mat and rubbed a hand across the blurry mirror. Leaning in, he gazed at his reflection as if seeing a stranger. Beads of water glistened on his skin and clung to his hair and lashes. He blinked a few times as if waking, then grabbed the towel from the sink and wrapped it around his waist. "Coming, Sammy. Hold your damn horses."

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_**Thanks for taking time out of your day to read my ramblings! **_

**_Reviews are craved, welcomed, always appreciated. _**

_**Amanda, thanks for the beta – I owe you some cake;)**_


	2. Chapter 2

_**Kiss of Death**_

_**Chapter Two**_

_**Disclaimers: Not mine. I asked for them for Christmas but Santa must not have heard me…**_

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Sam rang the doorbell a second time while Dean tugged on his tie like it was a noose. The door swung open and a man about Dean's age filled the doorway, baseball cap pulled low, two-day stubble gracing his narrow face. "Yeah?"

Dean flashed his ID and returned the card to his jacket pocket. "You Chris Norton?"

The man wrinkled his nose as if he'd smelled something disagreeable. "Yeah. Whad'ya want?"

Dean flashed his most charming smile. "We're with the CDC. We understand you were Ron Carlton's roommate?"

Shoulders sagging Chris answered, "Yeah. I found him." He took a step backwards and motioned for them to enter. "Come on in."

Dean and Sam followed Chris into a small living area and seated themselves side by side on a sway backed couch upholstered in faded green chenille. Chris lowered himself wearily into a well worn recliner and a sigh passed his lips. "So, what d'ya need to know?"

Sam regarded the other man's defeated posture and spoke softly. "We know this must be hard for you, Chris, but if we can determine what caused Ron's death hopefully we can prevent it from happening to anyone else."

Chris removed his hat and raked his fingers through his hair, then began speaking in a monotone voice. "Ron had been sick for about a week. Flu, we thought. Stopped going to class, stayed in his room most of the time. I wasn't that worried, though… figured he'd snap out of it. Until…"

"Until?" Dean prodded when Chris failed to continue.

Chris cleared his throat. "One night my girlfriend, Christine, was over. We were watching a movie in here and she grabbed the remote from me and paused it. Said she'd heard something. Then I heard it, too…moaning, coming from Ron's room. It was real low, I don't know how Christine even heard it over the movie, but it was definitely moaning." Chris paused and looked down at his lap. "Like, if I didn't know better, I would've thought Ron had company, if you know what I mean."

Dean arched his lips in a knowing grin and tilted his head up in understanding. "But he didn't. Have company, I mean."

"No, definitely not. That's when I got a little worried, thinking maybe he was moaning in pain or something. But then it stopped and we kind of figured he was alright and went back to watching the movie."

"But he wasn't alright, was he?" Sam asked gently, his face a mask of sympathy.

"No, man, he most definitely was _not_ alright," Chris said in a shaky voice. "Next morning he hadn't come out and it was like eleven, so I went in to see if he needed anything…" He shuddered at the memory and drew an uneven breath. "It was like… like he'd been freeze dried or something. Freaky, man, just freaky. He looked like an old man."

He lifted his head and fixed his gaze on Dean, then Sam. "What the hell could do that?"

"That's what we're trying to determine, Chris. Thank you for your time. You've been very helpful. We know this has been hard on you," Sam said, extending a hand as he rose from the ancient couch.

Dean followed suit and the brothers walked towards the door, leaving a bewildered Chris still slumped in his seat.

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Sam slid into the passenger seat and looked over expectantly at Dean who sat motionless with his hands on the steering wheel, eyes straight ahead but unseeing. Sam waved a hand in front of Dean's face. "Earth to Dean, come in, Dean."

"Wha'?" Dean frowned and looked over at Sam as if coming out of a trance. His eyes darted from side to side and a muscle jumped in his jaw.

Sam felt a knot of uncertainty form in his stomach. "Dude, you alright?" Dean looked positively confused, as if he'd just awoken and had no idea where he was.

Dean blinked a few times and nodded slowly. "Fine, I'm fine. Just a little tired, that's all. Didn't sleep worth a damn last night."

In fact, that was what he'd been thinking about. He couldn't seem to get the woman from his dreams out of his waking mind. It was like she'd entered his subconscious and hijacked his brain. He found himself wishing for sleep, hoping he'd see her again. _Dean, get a grip. She's not real, man. _

Dean turned his head to find Sam staring at him. Lines of worry creased his forehead and his lips were pursed, his eyebrows drawn down.

"You're making your _brotherly concern face_, dude. Quit it… you're giving me the creeps," Dean said. "I'm just a little run down and I spaced for a minute. Period."

Sam brushed away the feeling of unease that had overcome him moments before, chalking it up to the fact that he was still a bit under the weather. "I hope you're not catching this junk. It's no fun, man."

"If you got me sick, Sammy, so help me I will full on kick your ass. Now let's see what we can find out on the second victim."

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Sam scanned the computer screen, pausing every now and then to jot down a note or two. "Says here Nathan Colbert, age twenty-five, also died in his home of natural causes. Looks like he still lived at home, though. His mom, Delores Colbert, was unlucky enough to find him."

Sam shoveled onion rings into his mouth as he searched. He paused and glanced across the table at Dean, whose plate sat virtually untouched. His eyes were closed and a dreamy half smile graced his lips.

"Dean! What the hell, man? You _must_ be getting sick."

Dean opened his eyes and squinted against the harsh light of the diner. He swiped at his lashes and swallowed. "Dude, I don't feel so good. Why don't you drop me off at the motel on your way to visit the mom."

Sam tried to remember a time when Dean had voluntarily bowed out of any aspect of a hunt, including reconnaissance. The knot in his stomach tightened and he searched his brother's face for clues to his uncharacteristic behavior. The skin under Dean's eyes looked bruised, his lips almost translucent. An image of Dean in Nebraska flashed in Sam's memory and he shoved it aside.

"You sure, man? Maybe if you ate something…"

Dean shook his head. "Not hungry. Just tired. Can you handle this one without me?"

"Sure, yeah… it's just… you okay, man? I mean, you look awful."

"Thanks to you, dude. I can't believe you gave me your cooties. This sucks out loud."

Sam nodded but felt something gnawing at the back of his brain. "Alright, let's get you to the motel."

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Sam pulled the heavy motel curtains closed and glanced over his shoulder at his brother. Dean had practically collapsed the moment they'd entered the room and he lay still atop the scratchy floral comforter. His eyes were closed and his lips moved almost imperceptibly.

Sam crossed the room and leaned down over Dean's prone frame. "You say something, man?"

Again, Dean's mouth appeared to move but no sound passed his lips. Sam reached down and placed a hand on Dean's forehead. _No fever, at least not yet. Maybe some rest'll help him fight it off. _He backed towards the door and paused as Dean murmured incoherently.

For a moment he considered staying but knew Dean would be livid if he found out Sam had put the investigation on hold because he was _worried_. Sam knew it irked Dean when he acted concerned, as if it was an affront to Dean's ability to take care of himself. Sam clenched his jaw, convincing himself Dean would be just fine without him there. After a brief hesitation he turned the knob and slipped out, locking the door behind him.

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Dean waited for sleep to wash over him, his limbs heavy, his mind weightless. He welcomed it, wanted it, knew what it would bring. And then, as if he had conjured her she appeared.

_A smile pulled at the corner of Dean's mouth and the thin shaft of light through the curtains cast shadows under his lashes as he blinked lazily and reached for her. She smiled back, running her tongue over her perfect white teeth. Dean felt a shiver of anticipation at the sight of that tongue, remembering their last encounter. _

_He felt his body respond to her presence as his hands roamed her soft curves. What was it about her? When he was with her he felt as if he was gasping for air and she was his oxygen. As if he couldn't survive without her touch, her kiss, the welcoming warmth of her body. _

_A deep, guttural growl sounded low in his throat as she took his lower lip between her teeth. He wondered, not for the first time, if she had more than two hands; they seemed to be everywhere at once, stroking, teasing. His skin felt like it was vibrating, alive. He wrapped his powerful arms around her waist, drawing their bodies together. He moved against her, into her, biting his own lip to keep from crying out. _

_He could feel his strength ebbing away as she enveloped him, as if in order to take such pleasure he had to give something of himself away. She arched upwards and he spread his palms across the span of her lower back, feeling the rippling muscles underneath the silken skin. Dean couldn't remember ever feeling so out of control. He knew he couldn't stop himself now if he tried. His eyelids fluttered and his lips parted as a shudder ran through his body. And then she was gone._

He felt immediately cold, emptiness seeping into his heart, his limbs aching. He shivered and pulled the blanket over his exposed flesh. _God, it felt so wrong when she left. If only she could be here always…_

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Sam felt himself sliding over the edge of wakefulness. His body felt heavy, his eyelids stubbornly refused to open, but his mind was already alert. He pulled the motel sheet tighter around his shoulders and rolled onto his side.

He thought back to his conversation with Delores Colbert yesterday afternoon. Her story had been similar to Chris Norton's in that her son, Nathan, had also exhibited flu like symptoms in the week leading up to his death. Her description of Nathan meshed with the one Chris had supplied for Ron Carlton and the image of Randall Cohn embedded in Sam's memory.

Delores had also mentioned that she'd heard _sounds_ coming from her son's room in the days leading up to his death but hadn't elaborated on them. When Sam had pressed her to describe them she had stammered and blushed and looked down at her hands. Her obvious embarrassment suggested to Sam that the _sounds_ had been similar to those described by Chris Norton. He'd thanked Delores for her time, extended the usual sympathies and headed to the local library.

After several hours of research and numerous consultations with John's journal, Sam had formed a tentative hypothesis regarding the attacks. He'd returned to the motel anxious to run his theory by Dean but had been met with darkness and the sleeping form of his brother. His mind had been racing and it had been hours before he was able to welcome sleep, his concern for Dean's well being mingling with the ideas he'd formulated earlier. His dreams that night had been confusing, disjointed and he awoke feeling as if he'd barely slept at all.

After several semi-conscious minutes Sam was finally able to lift his eyelids and he turned to peer at his brother, still asleep in the neighboring bed. He glanced at the alarm clock on the shared nightstand and was shocked to see _10:37_ glaring at him in accusatory red digits. He'd slept almost eleven hours. And Dean, well, Dean had been asleep for ages now. Worry crept back into Sam's mind and he swung his legs over the side of his bed and shifted onto the edge of Dean's bed.

He jostled Dean, gently at first, then more firmly when no response came. "Dean, wake up. You alright, man?"

Sam watched as Dean made an attempt to open his hooded eyes. His lashes fluttered but his eyelids remained firmly sealed. He licked his lips twice and then reached a hand up to swipe at his face, still creased with sleep. "Sammy?"

"Yeah, Dean, I'm right here. You okay?"

"M'fine… so tired…" Dean's husky voice trailed off and Sam could see him battling to stay awake. He noticed the hollows under Dean's eyes and the fact that his skin was now a near perfect match for the ivory pillowcase he rested upon. The dawning of fear prickled at the base of his spine and he touched Dean's forehead. Still no fever, but something was obviously wrong.

Sam left Dean's side reluctantly to fetch a glass of water from the bathroom tap. He scrunched his lanky frame down beside Dean, tilted his chin up and lifted the glass to his parched lips.

"Here, drink this." Dean's mouth parted slightly to allow a small sip of water to enter. Sam brushed away a stray droplet with his thumb and waited until he saw Dean's Adam's apple bob before offering another sip. He repeated the process patiently until he was satisfied his brother had gotten enough then gently lowered his head back onto the pillow.

_Dean, come on, man. _Sam told himself that this was just a role reversal from the previous week, but the twisting in his gut told him differently. Dean had been sick before, even violently so, but this lethargy was so at odds with his usual demeanor that it sent a chill down Sam's spine.

_I was exhausted, too, _Sam reminded himself. _This stuff really takes it out of you. Quit overreacting. Sleep is probably just what the doctor ordered._

He forced himself to leave Dean's bedside and promised himself that if Dean wasn't substantially better by the following morning he would personally drag his sorry ass to the ER kicking and screaming if need be. Somewhat reassured by this plan Sam opened the satchel that lay at the foot of the nightstand and withdrew a notepad.

He flipped to the pages containing his scrawled notes from the prior evening, hoping his now rested mind might be better equipped to piece together the puzzle than it had been last night. Words jumped up at him from the page _…psychic vampire?... vengeful spirit?... young, male victims …significance of noises heard coming from victims' rooms?…attacks somehow sexual in nature?... _

Sam flipped forward several pages until his eyes found the word he'd been looking for: _Succubus. _

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_**More to follow very soon… If you enjoyed or even if you didn't, please take a moment to review. I'm like a junkie with the feedback, folks. Hook me up. Thanks as always to Amanda for the beta and the encouragement. **_


	3. Chapter 3

_**Kiss of Death**_

_**Chapter Three**_

_**Disclaimers: Mine! All mine! (insert maniacal laughter) Alright, fine…they're Kripke's…**_

_**Note: I have taken liberties with my version of the succubus where it suited my own dark purposes. I mean no ill will towards any succubi who may be reading this and thinking, "That's just plain inaccurate!" So don't go sending some incubus friend to visit me and teach me a lesson…unless he looks like Dean…**_

_You can have my isolation...  
You can have the hate that it brings  
You can have my absence of faith...  
You can have my everything _

Help me... you tear down my reason

_Help me think I'm somebody else_

_(Closer by Nine Inch Nails)_

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Sam read the word with fresh eyes and felt even more certain about his theory from the night before. A succubus. That would explain why all the victims had been virile young men. It would explain the sounds the witnesses had heard. It also meant that someone else was in danger, had probably already been attacked at least once.

Sam's mind raced as he tried to figure out how to determine who the next victim might be. Obviously there were hundreds of men in that age group nearby. Add that to the fact that it was flu season and it would be nearly impossible to tell who had a relatively harmless virus and who might be in danger of having his life force drained.

He couldn't exactly go door to door asking men in their twenties if any strange women had appeared naked in their bedrooms lately. Doctor's offices might be able to narrow down the search if the victim had already sought treatment but based on the previous cases Sam doubted he would. He'd already put a call in to the hospital and found out no new victims had been admitted fitting the description.

He had also learned that Randall Cohn's condition was actually worsening and that the doctors were at a loss as to how to help him. The nurse Sam had conned into talking with him had mentioned that Randall seemed to have no will to live which was complicating matters.

Sam had no idea how the succubus had chosen her victims and could see no connection between them that might shed light on who would be next. He flipped to the next page in his notebook and scanned the notes he'd scrawled at the library. _Medieval legend…female demon…seduces men while they're dreaming and has intercourse with them…feeds on energy drawn from the men during the act…often results in exhaustion or death of the victim._

Sam thought back to Chris Norton's description of the moaning coming from Ron Carlton's room, how Chris had suggested it sounded _like_ _he_ _had company._ From everything Sam could gather a succubus didn't kill its victims immediately. Instead it would return to feed off them repeatedly until there was simply nothing left, like a demonic parasite. Sam flashed on the image of Randall Cohn. _Nothing left. _

A sense of urgency gripped Sam as he realized it had been over a week since Randall had been admitted to the hospital. That meant the succubus could have been slowly draining some poor guy's energy for a week now without him realizing what was going on. Sam recalled the witnesses saying that the victims had presented with flu-like symptoms.

_Hell, _Sam thought, _If we'd been here a week and a half ago I probably would've convinced myself _I'd _been attacked, as sick as I was. And now I'm on my own with this one since Dean caught the same crap. _Something nagged at him, something just out of reach. He closed his eyes and tried to fit the pieces together.

Suddenly his eyes flew open and he raised his head as a horrifying thought entered his mind. He jumped up off the bed and hurried to Dean's side. He shook his brother's shoulder roughly, past the point of worrying about waking him gently. "Dean! Wake up, man. I need to talk to you."

Dean smacked his lips and opened one eye just enough to shoot Sam a dirty look. For a moment Sam felt immense relief at the thought that Dean was obviously still well enough to be annoyed. Then he remembered why he'd woken Dean in the first place.

"Dean, seriously, I need to ask you something. Then you can sleep, man, I promise. Just hear me out." Sam forced himself to wait for a response.

Dean shifted and stretched, then cracked his eyelids halfway and groaned loudly. "Sammy, whatever the hell you want, it better be good. Did I bug you like this when _you_ were sick?"

"No, Dean, but that's just it. I need to make sure you have the flu."

"Dude, if you wanna play doctor you're after the wrong patient," Dean mumbled and made a move to pull the covers over his head.

Sam grabbed the comforter and yanked it back down. "Dean, this is serious. I think I know what we're hunting. And I need to know it's not hunting you."

That got Dean's attention. He pressed his lips together and clenched his jaw, forcing himself to remain alert. "Sammy, what the _hell_ are you talkin' about?"

"Dean, I think this thing's a succubus."

Dean drew his eyebrows together. "A what-you-bus?"

"A succubus, a female demon that seduces men and draws strength from having sex with them. She basically drains them of their energy until they wither and die, Dean. Just like our vics."

"Dude," Dean murmured, a grin pulling at the corner of his mouth. "A demon that does the deed, huh?"

Sam gave an exasperated sigh and widened his eyes. "Dean, this is serious, man. People are dying here. And now you're sick and I need to know why."

Dean's head moved backwards and he shot Sam a look of disbelief. "You think _I'm_ being succubused?"

"That's not even a word, Dean, but yeah, the thought did cross my mind."

Dean snorted. "Sammy, you need to chill. You know as well as I do that it's _your_ fault I'm sick, not some demonic floozy."

Sam allowed his shoulders to relax. "Fine, Dean. But you'd tell me if you'd been experiencing anything…out of the ordinary? You know, like vivid sexual fantasies?"

Dean dropped his chin to his chest and regarded Sam through his lashes. "Sam, I cannot believe you just asked me that. Are you friggin' _serious_? I'm gonna do you a favor and pretend those words never came out of your mouth, alright? Now are you gonna shut up and let me get some damn sleep?"

Sam looked chagrined and nodded silently. "Fine, but I'm gonna go visit Randall Cohn's brother. Maybe he can tell us something that can help narrow down our search. 'Cause I'll be honest…I'm kind of at a loss here as to how to find this thing."

Dean's eyes were drooping again but he forced them open. "You figure out how to kill this bitch if you do find her?"

Sam nodded absently. "Yeah, I loaded a shotgun with sanctified iron, but the tough part is that all the lore says you have to hit this thing while it's _in the act_, if you know what I mean."

"Yeah, I think I remember, Sam. And thanks for sparing my delicate sensibilities with that euphemism."

"Dude, you just used _euphemism _in a sentence. You really _are _sick." Sam grinned down at his brother and pulled the covers back up under his chin. "Rest up, man. I need you at full strength once I track this thing down."

Dean's eyes were already closing. "Sure, Sammy, full strength…" His head dropped to the side and his breathing slowed.

Sam reached a hand out to touch Dean's face but pulled it back at the last second knowing his brother would be irritated at such a chick flick gesture. He gathered himself up and flipped off the bedside light. _Sleep tight, Dean. _He grabbed his notebook and headed for the door.

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_Finally_, Dean thought to himself. _I thought he would _never _leave. _He willed himself to relax, counting backwards from one hundred the way his dad had taught him long ago. At last sleep came for him, wrapping him in a familiar blanket of warmth and comfort. He waited. He waited for her…

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Sam sat across a wooden coffee table from Ben Cohn. Thunder rumbled in the distance and Sam could see clouds pregnant with the promise of heavy rain through the picture window behind Ben. Randall's brother had just shared a now familiar story, one about a flu-like virus, about strange sounds emanating from his brother's room.

His story had a twist, though: although Randall was far from alright, he was technically still alive. "I'm sorry to make you rehash all the details, but could tell me about the night Randall was admitted to the hospital?" Sam asked.

Ben nodded, then paused as if gathering strength before opening his mouth to speak. "I'd just turned off a basketball game on TV and was heading to bed. I'd been worried about Randy and he'd been holed up in his room since lunchtime so I decided I'd check on him before I called it a night. His door was closed so I knocked once, real soft in case he was resting, and then pushed it open. It was pitch dark in his room and I thought I felt something move past me so I reached over and flipped on the light. Randy was lying on the bed and for a second I thought he was dead… I mean, you saw him, man. I ran over to him and held him and I could tell he was still breathing. That's when I grabbed the phone and called 911."

Sam nodded, his face reflecting Ben's pain at retelling the story. "I can't imagine how horrible that must've been. Now, you say Randall was on the bed but that you felt something move past you in the room?"

Ben shivered almost imperceptibly. "Dunno, man, I mean, I thought I felt something. The room was just so dark when I first walked in and I know it sounds weird but it almost felt like someone else was in that room with me and Randy." His eyes implored Sam as he continued. "I know…I know I was probably just imagining things, but I swear there was something there."

Sam started to respond but was suddenly felled by a massive jolt of pain to his temple. He bent forward as the weight of an impending vision crushed his skull, gripping his brain in tentacles of icy hot misery. He vaguely heard Ben asking if he was alright before the images assaulted him…

_A motel room…moans… the sound of sheets shifting…a flash of bare skin…a stunning woman moving in the throes of passion…and then a face he knew better than his own…Dean…eyes closed in pain or passion, he couldn't tell which…the sense of something malevolent, something ominous…a woman's face, her eyes bright with what might be mistaken for pleasure, but what Sam recognized as pure evil…Dean…oh, God…Dean…_

"Man, are you alright? Should I call someone?" Ben Cohn stood above Sam, a look of panic on his face.

Sam shook his head slowly from side to side. _What the hell… _The memory of those cold eyes looking down at his brother came rushing back. _Dean! _He stood as quickly as he could without losing his balance from the residual pain. "Sorry…gotta go…" he mumbled before bolting for the door and leaving a baffled witness behind. All that mattered was getting to the motel, getting to Dean.

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_Dean knew the truth…he knew that without this woman's touch his heart would simply stop beating, his soul would shatter. She was like rain on the desert, quenching his thirst even as she left him wanting more. Dean knew passion, he knew pleasure, but this…he couldn't believe he'd gone his entire life without knowing this kind of intense ecstasy. He wondered briefly if this was what drug addicts felt; craving something so much that it blocked out everything else, welcoming the pain because it was the price you paid for the pleasure. He could feel himself slipping away but couldn't will himself to care about anything but what he was feeling, what she was doing to him. _

_He looked up at her, his lashes framing green eyes flashing with intensity. He bit his lower lip as she moved on him, electrifying his body and making him feel as if he might shatter into a million tiny pieces at any moment. His rough hands reached up to tangle in her hair and pull her face down to him. He was still shocked every time their lips met; the more he tasted of her the more his hunger grew. _

_Dean slid his hands down her back and dug his fingers into her flesh, pressing her against him. She lowered herself until she was covering the length of Dean's body with her own. Dean groaned at the soft weight of her body on his, nipping at her bottom lip and moving his hands lower to grip her hips. He rose to meet her and smiled as a soft sound passed her lips. She shifted her weight until she was sitting atop him again, her knees pressing against the sides of his muscled thighs. Dean tilted his head back and closed his eyes, allowing her movements to drive him as close to the edge as possible before pulling himself back. He felt his control slipping and his lips parted as a husky growl escaped from his throat. _

_Suddenly something changed; she was moving almost frantically now, pushing him over the edge into the abyss. He didn't want her to stop but when he opened his eyes and looked into hers he found himself shocked by the glint he saw there. It wasn't passion…it wasn't pleasure…it was something akin to madness. He tried to move his hands, to slow her movements, to tell her it was too much… He tried, but he couldn't seem to lift his hands, couldn't seem to speak… Her head was thrown back now and she was moaning like some sort of animal. Dean felt a stab of fear and suddenly knew Sam had been right. _

_Sam had been right and now Dean was going to die, just like the other victims. If he could only move his hands, only yell for help, only… Darkness descended and Dean's last conscious thought was of the brother he would leave behind…_

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_**I promise not to leave you hanging too long… if you even care. Thanks for reading AND REVIEWING!! (subtle hint) And thanks to Amanda as always! You are the beta beneath my wings;)**_


	4. Chapter 4

_**Kiss of Death**_

_**Chapter Four**_

_**Disclaimers: Don't own 'em, wouldn't be held responsible for what might happen if I did…**_

_**Note: The closest I've come to formal medical training is reading the pamphlets in the waiting room at my doctor's office, so I apologize upfront for any erroneous medical jargon/info/etc. that may be included in this chapter. **_

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Sam crept quietly along the outside wall of the motel room, ducking past the windows and turning the key slowly in the lock. The sky behind him was dark with storm clouds, providing the cover he needed to slip unnoticed into the room, shotgun at the ready.

He had to stop himself from gasping when he saw the woman pinning his brother to the motel bed. She was exquisite, her long ebony hair spilling over her shoulders and down her back, her slender neck arching backwards to expose creamy flesh. For a moment Sam froze, but then he looked below her and saw his brother's face creased with pain, his mouth open in silent terror.

And he fired. Again and again he fired. The woman made an unearthly noise each time an iron round pierced her skin. She twisted and writhed; her arms flew up as if to shield her from the bullets. Still Sam fired. Suddenly her body began shaking violently and as Sam watched in horror she seemed to explode into fine black dust. Only then did Sam lower the gun.

He dropped it to his side and spanned the distance of the room in three long limbed steps. He knelt beside the motionless body of his brother, fighting back a wail that threatened to rip from his throat. Dean seemed frozen, his lips still parted, his eyes unblinking.

"Dean! Dean! Can you hear me, man?" Panic gripped Sam but he cradled Dean's head in one arm and reached down with the other to cover his brother's body with the comforter. Dean blinked once and made a dry retching sound. Sam reached for the glass of water still sitting on the bedside table and poured a stream into Dean's open mouth. Dean sputtered but swallowed most of it and Sam immediately gave him more.

Sam's eyes glittered as he took in his brother's chalky skin, the hollows under his eyes, his dry, cracked lips. "Dean, it's over. She's gone, man. It's over."

Yet even as he spoke Sam feared that it wasn't over, that Dean was already too far gone. He pushed away thoughts of Randall Cohn still lying in a hospital bed, recovery an apparent impossibility. He knew from Dean's appearance that he'd reached him before that point, but he had no idea what kind of damage had already been done. What he did know was that they had only a minute or two before the police showed up; shots fired in a motel room never went unnoticed.

As if on cue a loud knock broke the silence. "Police! Open up!"

Sam stood and brushed the charcoal-like dust from the bed and wiped the gun down quickly with his sleeve. Placing it on the floor in plain sight he went to the door and turned the knob slowly with one hand, holding his other hand up in the air. "I'm opening the door now," he said in a calm voice that surprised even him.

"Hands up where we can see 'em! Take a step back, sir. We have a report of shots fired…I need you on your knees, now!"

Sam complied but tilted his head towards Dean. "That's my brother over there, officer. He's sick…real sick. I think he was delirious or something. He just grabbed his shotgun and started firing away at nothing, talking about monsters or something. He needs to get to a hospital ASAP."

The next few minutes were a whirlwind of activity. Once the officers saw Dean's condition they had no trouble buying Sam's story and moved quickly and efficiently to get him loaded into a waiting ambulance. Sam trailed helplessly behind them, a vise gripping his chest at the sight of Dean lying unconscious on the stretcher.

A paramedic squatted beside Dean and reached a hand out to close the ambulance doors. "You can follow behind us. We're heading to Benton General."

Sam's hand was up and blocking the ambulance door before the paramedic even finished her sentence. "I'm riding with my brother." The tone of his voice left no room for argument and the paramedic relented and motioned for Sam to climb aboard.

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Beep. Beep. Beep. Sam opened his eyes and realized he'd been nearly lulled to sleep by the steady cadence of the heart monitor. It was the first time he'd sat still in the past twelve hours and he suddenly realized how bone tired he was. The past few hours had been a blur.

The ambulance ride, the emergency room, the doctors, the tests…Sam had experienced it all as if he was looking down at himself. He was there in body but his spirit was with Dean. Dean…

He looked over at his brother, a mess of tubes obstructing his view of the face he gauged his life by. He knew that in any situation, no matter how bizarre of frightening, he could look at Dean's face and find reassurance, or encouragement, or guidance. Sam needed only to look to his brother and read his expression to know what move to make, what weapon to draw, what story to spin. Without that face, Sam was lost.

A shadow fell in the doorway and Sam broke his reverie long enough to recognize one of the doctors from earlier. He composed himself enough to speak. "Doctor, any news?"

The gray haired gentleman in the green scrubs nodded and stepped towards Sam. The expression on his face made Sam's blood run cold. He'd seen that look before, in the hospital after Dean's encounter with the rawhead. It was the look of sympathy.

"I don't know if you remember me…I know you've met a lot of people since you and your brother got here. I'm Dr. Banker." The man extended his hand but Sam continued to grip the sides of his chair, his jaw set. "Sam, right?" the man continued. "I know you're worried about your brother, and frankly, so am I. But I want you to know we're doing everything we can."

Sam lifted a hand and sliced it through the air in front of him, gesturing his frustration. "Look, _Doctor. _I don't need your damn words of comfort right now. What I _need_ is to hear that my brother's gonna be alright. Because _frankly, _I don't give a rat's ass about anything else you have to say. We clear?"

Dr. Banker nodded, his heart going out to this young man who was so obviously distraught. "Son…"

Sam interrupted abruptly. "_Don't _call me _son. _Got it?"

"I apologize. It won't happen again. But I'd like to share a bit about your brother's condition if that's alright." The doctor paused, patiently awaiting permission to speak again. When Sam nodded he continued.

"Your brother is suffering from severe dehydration. When he was brought in his blood pressure was dangerously low and he was close to going into shock. We started him on intravenous sodium chloride and an antibiotic to fight off any infection that may be contributing to his condition."

Sam put a hand up to stop him. "So, if you've done all that, why do you still look so worried?"

"Because while we have been able to prevent any further damage, at this point we don't know what damage may already have been done to his internal organs…his kidneys, his liver, his brain. Severe dehydration can affect all of these. Luckily we caught it before he went into shock. We should know more by morning. In the mean time, you look like you could use some rest. You'll be no good to your brother if you collapse from exhaustion."

Sam started to argue but slumped in his chair instead. This doctor had been nothing but kind and patient and Sam knew he was projecting his own feelings of helplessness and fear onto him. "Look, Doc. I'm sorry about giving you such a hard time. It's just…" He paused as his voice broke, took a deep breath and continued. "It's just that it's my _brother_, ya know? And I just need to know he's gonna be okay."

Doctor Banker cleared his throat. "Sam, your brother can feel that, you know…your love. Even now, even when you can't find the words…he knows. And from what I've seen so far he's a fighter. In my professional opinion, that's half the battle right there. He knows he has something to live for and he's willing to fight to get back to it. All the medical attention in the world can't hold a candle to that."

Sam nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He hoped the doctor could read the gratitude in his eyes. The older man nodded back and turned to leave. "See you in the morning, Sam. Get some rest, now. Doctor's orders." With a wink he was gone.

Sam scooted his chair closer to Dean's bedside. He wadded up a blanket from the foot of the bed and positioned it next to Dean's pillow. Then he slid his gangly legs out in front of him and leaned sideways until his head was resting on the makeshift pillow, his head inches from his brother's.

He closed his eyes and tried to recall the bedtime ritual he and Dean had shared when Sam was little. Every night Sam had insisted they say the same words to each other, and every night Dean had grudgingly complied. The words came rushing back to Sam and he whispered them aloud accompanied by the noises of the machines working to bring his brother back to him. "Goodnight…sleep tight…don't let the bedbugs bite…sweet dreams…night, night…see you in the morning light…"

Sam felt his eyelids grow heavy and he reached a hand out to grasp Dean's. He held fast to his brother, his anchor, and allowed himself to drift out of consciousness. The brothers breathed rhythmically together, their sleep dark and dreamless.

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Sam woke with a start. His eyes flew open and he found himself looking directly into Dean's green eyed gaze. He jerked his head back in surprise and gasped out loud. "Dean!"

Dean blinked lazily, his lashes casting shadows on the already dark circles under his eyes. He opened his mouth to speak but only a dry, croaking sound came out.

Sam fumbled with the call button on the hospital bed and simultaneously yelled, "Doctor! I need a doctor in here!" for good measure.

A nurse came flying around the corner followed by Dr. Banker who had apparently pulled an all night shift. "He's awake!" Sam shouted. A wide grin pulled at his face and he reached a hand out to touch Dean's cheek, no longer caring if his brother found such a gesture untoward.

"Dean, how are you feeling? Are you alright?" The words tumbled out and Sam had to force himself to wait for an answer.

Dean cleared his throat several times and then nodded. "M'alright, Sammy." His voice was hoarse and raspy. He attempted a smile but his eyes drooped with the effort.

Dr. Banker stepped forward and leaned in towards Dean. "Dean? You gave us quite a scare yesterday. How are you feeling?"

Dean swallowed and whispered, "Thirsty."

Sam felt relieved laughter bubble up inside him and he looked to the doctor as he reached for the pitcher of water next to the bed. Dr. Banker nodded and began instructing the nurse in a low voice, "BP… blood creatinine…BUN test…CBC…"

Sam gripped Dean's hand tightly and brought the cup of water to his lips. Dean sipped for several seconds and then tipped his head back onto his pillow wearily. "Sorry, Sammy," he whispered, his eyes threatening to close again.

Sam furrowed his brow in confusion. "Sorry? What the hell for, Dean?"

"Sorry…I wasn't stronger…" Dean murmured.

"Dean! Don't apologize! You had no control, man. That _thing_ took it from you."

"Should've… should've been able to fight it…should've known…"

"Dean, stop. It's over now; you're gonna be alright. Do you hear me, Dean? It's _over._"

Dean's response was to close his eyes. The steady beat of the monitor and the sound of the nurse taking Dean's blood pressure blended with the rhythm of Dean's breathing. Sam unconsciously mimicked the rhythm with his own breath and watched as the nurse recorded Dean's vitals on a chart.

He turned and locked eyes with Dr. Banker who smiled back at him. Sam raised his eyebrows and the doctor responded to the silent question. "He's going to be okay, Sam. He was extremely lucky you found him when you did. He could've gone into shock within a matter of minutes if you hadn't shown up. We'll keep him here for as long as it takes to stabilize his electrolyte levels and make sure his blood nitrogen and creatinine counts look good, but that shouldn't take more than a few days. He's tough; a real fighter."

Sam's face broke into a lopsided grin and he bounced his head twice. "That's for damn sure, Doc." He glanced down at his brother and back up at the doctor, his brown eyes glistening. "Thank you. I don't know what I would've…" His voice cracked and he looked up at the ceiling.

Dr. Banker thought of his own sons; of the bond they shared with one another, the steadfast bond of brotherhood. It was obvious that the connection between Sam and Dean was unbreakable, their fates tethered together by blood and history. He cleared his throat, his voice husky with emotion. "I know, Sam. I know."

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**_So, is Dean _really _out of the woods? And how will Sam react if Dean confesses that he withheld information from him? All will be revealed in the next (and probably final) chapter and I promise I'll post soon. Thank you to all who've taken the time to review. I will reply to each and every one of you but because the alerts are down (curses!!) you may not get my replies right away. Please know how much I appreciate it, though! Amanda, love ya' like a fat kid loves cake. _**


	5. Chapter 5

_**Kiss of Death**_

_**Chapter Five**_

_**Disclaimers: My attorney has instructed me to say, "They're not mine." Oh, and also, I promise I won't get within 50 feet of Jensen per the agreement. Blah, blah, blah.**_

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Milky light filtered through the blinds, dust motes dancing in its wake. Dean slowly rose up through the unconscious depths and broke the surface of awareness, feeling the heaviness of his limbs, tasting the metallic tang of thirst, hearing his heartbeat in his ears. He struggled to lift his eyelids, fighting against the weight of fatigue. After several moments he succeeded in opening them and peered through his lashes at the figure next to him.

Sam sat contorted in the chair, one knee bent with his foot resting on the seat, the other leg sprawled straight out. One arm was tucked across his chest, the other draped onto the hospital bed next to the bunched up blanket that cradled his head. Despite the awkward position he appeared to be sleeping soundly.

Dean watched his brother sleep for a moment, thanking Sam silently for rescuing him from himself. He knew how close he'd come, how the edge of the cliff had loomed up before him. Sam had been there to pull him back from the brink when Dean hadn't been able to get a foothold. When Dean had been weak.

Dean could feel the IV fluids working. He could feel his strength slowly returning. _I'm like some dried up sponge someone finally ran under the faucet, _he thought with a wry grin. Then Randall Cohn's image floated across his mind and he shuddered as he thought of how close he'd come to sharing a similar fate.

Sam's hand twitched and he stirred, smacking his lips together and burying his head further in the blanket. Dean waited quietly, allowing Sam a few more restful moments. Finally Sam's eyes opened and he smiled lazily when he saw Dean watching him.

"Hey."

"Hey."

"How ya feelin'?"

"Better."

Sam stretched and yawned. "You are one lucky son-of-a-bitch, ya know it?" His casual demeanor was undermined by the look of relief in his eyes.

Dean rubbed the back of his head thoughtfully. "About that…" He paused and lowered his gaze. "Luck had nothing to do with it." He glanced up and locked eyes with his brother.

"You saved my ass, Sammy. My baby brother…all _guns blazing. _You badass." He winked, a dimple appearing at the corner of his mouth.

Sam grinned in spite of himself. "Dude, I even lied to the cops. You're such a bad influence."

Dean's eyelids threatened to close but he forced them open and shot Sam a quizzical look. "How'd you know, anyways? I mean, the timing was pretty damn convenient."

Sam looked at his hands and paused for a moment. When he spoke his voice was low and measured. "I saw it."

Dean knitted his eyebrows together and pursed his lips. "You _saw _it? As in _spidey sense _saw it?"

"Yeah."

Dean nodded once, his eyes growing dark. "Huh. You okay?"

"Me? Are you kidding? _I'm _fine. But you…you look like this conversation is wearing you out. You need to rest, man."

"Naw…I'm fine…just…just a little sleepy…" Dean's voice trailed off and his eyelids fluttered and then closed.

Sam pulled the sheets up to Dean's chin. "Yeah, you're fine."

Sam watched as Dean's chest rose and fell, his breathing slowing until his head lolled to the side against his pillow. Seeing Dean this peaceful was disconcerting somehow. Sam was so used to alert Dean, on edge Dean. Even in sleep he never truly seemed to let his guard down, one hand gripping the knife under his pillow, poised and ready for danger.

Sam shivered as he thought of how close he'd come to losing Dean. _You'd think I'd be used to it by now, _he thought wryly. He couldn't truly allow himself to imagine a world without his brother in it. Without Dean…without Dean nothing made sense.

A nurse tapped on the doorframe, a welcome interruption to his thoughts. "Come on in," he whispered. She smiled and proceeded to take Dean's vitals; to Sam's amazement Dean slept through the entire encounter.

The nurse recorded his information on the chart at the foot of his bed and gave Sam a shy smile before taking her leave. Sam leaned his head back against his chair and rolled his neck from side to side, attempting to release some of the knots that had settled there.

He stood and stretched, then walked to the window and peered out through the blinds. The dull ache of hunger gnawed at his gut and he glanced down at Dean. Realizing that his brother was probably going to be down for the count for awhile, he decided to step out into the hall and do some damage to the nearest vending machine.

Two bags of Fritos and a Mountain Dew later, Sam returned. As he settled back into the chair he felt a hand clamp down on his wrist. He turned and regarded the groggy countenance of his big brother. "Hey, sleeping beauty."

"Hey. How long was I out?"

"Not long enough. You should be resting, Dean."

"I'm good." Dean's eyes flicked sideways and he mumbled something under his breath.

"What was that?"

"I said, I need to tell you something."

"About what?"

"About the other night…when you…you know. When you saved me." He looked up at Sam then, his eyes shining. "It was my fault…I should've been stronger…"

Sam began to interrupt but Dean put a hand up to silence him. "Sam," his voice leaving no room for argument, "let me finish." Sam drew back at the steely edge in Dean's voice. "I need you to know this…I need you to know the truth. When you first told me about the succubus, I knew. Deep down, I knew it was her. And I chose…I was weak...and I chose…"

This time Sam jumped in. "Dean! We've been over this…you _had _no choice. You were…"

"Damnit, Sam! I'm telling you; I _chose. _I told you what you needed to hear so you'd leave and I could see her again. I _knew_ but I refused to _believe._"

Sam looked as if Dean had sucker punched him. He shook his head in disbelief. "No, no…you were under her spell, man. You didn't _really_ have a choice."

Dean sighed wearily, his shoulders drooping. "Sam. Part of me knew…but I…I chose to ignore the truth because…" he paused, pulling in a ragged breath, unable to look at Sam. "…because I needed to _feel_ something, man..." He pressed his lips together, his eyes boring holes into the blanket, the heat of his confession pulling color into his pale features. "I know it wasn't real, I know I should be completely freaked out that I…I friggin' _made_ it with a demon…but at least I _felt _something…something other than anger…or fear…or nothing at all…" His voice faded and his eyes drew inward away from Sam.

Both brothers sat motionless, neither willing to disturb the stillness broken only by the steady beeping of the monitor, the air heavy with words unsaid. Finally Sam broke the silence. He raised his eyes to Dean's face and spoke in a voice thick with emotion.

"Dean, I'm only gonna say this once. This was _not _your fault. This _thing_…it's what it does, man. It hits you when you're vulnerable, it manipulates you, it _preys_ on you in your weakest state. Hell, if this thing had come to you that first night while you were _awake_ you woulda' sent it straight back to hell without breakin' a sweat. You might've _known _but that doesn't mean you actually had a choice. The succubus stole your ability to choose, man." He paused, willing his brother to look at him, to listen to him. To believe him. "You were weak because she _broke _you"

Dean listened in silence. When Sam first began speaking he clenched his jaw, a look of utter defiance on his face. But as his brother's voice washed over him, his expression softened, his eyes lost their angry glint. Sam's words granted him absolution from the sin Dean had confessed to; the sin of being vulnerable.

He lifted his head slowly, grimacing as if it pained him to do so, and locked eyes with Sam. "I just…I'm supposed to protect _you_, Sam, not the other way around. I know…up _here…_" He tapped his temple with an index finger. "I _get_ that I might not have _really_ been able to stop it…I just can't help feeling…like I failed you somehow."

Sam's voice shook with intensity. "Dude, you're a helluva' hunter, a helluva' fighter, but you're still _human._ Let it go, man…no one can be strong _all _the time…" His voice softened and his eyes shone with emotion. "…even _you_."

A muscle jumped in Dean's jaw and he blinked rapidly. When the words came out Sam had to strain to hear them, Dean's voice hushed and rough with emotion. "Thanks, man."

"Knock, knock."

The brothers looked up to see Dr. Banker standing in the doorway. Both wondered how long he'd been standing there. "How's the patient today?"

Dean looked directly at Sam before answering, "Better, much better."

"Excellent. All your vitals look good, the lab results show no permanent damage was done…looks like you'll be out of here by tonight. I never would've believed it when you first came through that door. I think your brother here willed you back."

Sam pulled one side of his mouth up and nodded. "Yeah, I wasn't gonna let him off the hook that easy. By the way, I've been meaning to ask, how's Randall Cohn doing?"

Dr. Banker shook his head in disbelief. "Weirdest damn thing…the same day you boys showed up he suddenly started responding to our treatments. His brother says it's a miracle…I don't know what to think. It's like he suddenly decided to live. He's got a long road ahead before he's able to walk out of here, but I'm fairly certain he'll do just that."

Sam smiled broadly. "That's great news, Doc."

The doctor grinned back and said, "Yup. Seems to be lots of that going around for a change. I'm getting ready to head out but I wanted to stop by and wish you both well. Dean, you take it easy, now. Don't go pushing yourself before you're ready, you hear?"

Dean tilted his head up in agreement but Sam rolled his eyes and said, "That'll be the day. Dean doesn't exactly _do_ low gear."

Dean shot him a look but said nothing. Dr. Banker addressed Sam, a look of affection gracing his weathered face. "You take care, too, Sam. It seems to me you boys look out for each other; keep that up and you'll do just fine."

"Yes, sir," Sam responded, the _sir _causing Dean to flick a glance his direction. "And thank you. For everything."

"My pleasure, boys. My pleasure." And with that, the doctor turned and made his exit.

Sam let out an exaggerated sigh. "So, Francis…you about ready to blow this joint or do you still have the sniffles?"

"Very funny, smart ass."

Sam's eyes twinkled. "Payback's a bitch, man."

Dean grinned and shook his head. "Let's just call it even, shall we?"

Sam nodded, a wide smile stretching across his face. "Even."

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_**As much as I'd like to just keep on writing Dean/succubus scenes, all good things must come to an end. Thank you for taking the time to read and (wink, wink, nudge, nudge) review. Sweet dreams!**_

**_Amanda, thanks for the suggestions; I was floundering and you threw me a life preserver. I'm grateful as always!_**


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